Am I the only one whose life seems to end and then begin again every year after April 15th? The fact that I have been doing my own taxes since I was 16 could have something to do with this. I thank my dad for that. He was always of the mindset that if I was old enough for a responsibility, I'd need to know and understand all the subsequent responsibilities it carried. Well at least that's how I look back on it.
When it was time to learn how to drive, Dad took me in his '88 Ford Ranger pickup truck with no power steering, no power breaks, a clutch that was most certainly on its way out, and a bucket seat that couldn't come close enough to the pedals for my little leggies. Yet everyday, we would take the truck to my famous "corner" until I could conquer it. What's to be "conquered" at a corner? Nothing really - unless it's a T-stop, at the top of a hill, and you're just learning to drive. For those of you who don't drive stick, stop signs atop hills are a budding driver's nightmare as it's likely you have yet to get the hang of the clutch and will inevitably stall. Stall I did. Over and over and over again. But then one day - miraculously - I got it. My right foot seemed to magically press on the gas at exactly the right pressure and speed to complement my left foot coming off the clutch. I had found the touch. And after that, I'd never stall again. Pretty much the most difficult vehicle on which to learn the art of motor vehicle operations, the pickup prepared me for anything. To this day, I wouldn't be afraid to get behind the wheel of a beat-up jalopy, slap a few pillows under my bum and hit the road.
In addition to my old car mastery, I also had to learn how to change a flat tire, put oil in my car, check fluids - you know, all those tasks that are actually quite simple yet seem to baffle many girls who've driven for decades.
Thus was the case (and in many ways, still is) with my taxes. I was 16 and started to work at the local grocery store, and soon after, the local restaurant. At year end when my W-2's came to the mailbox, I would not be sending them off to some H&R Block employee, nor would Dad be opening them, examining them and sending the appropriate tax return into the IRS without me ever seeing a Schedule A, B, or C. No, he would sit with me and make sure I understood how to fill out the form - how it works and why.
I'm actually pretty grateful he did this. There's a sense of control one feels when they know they can handle taxes - documents that are more intimidating than they are complex.
And yet every year - I do something I am markedly good at - I procrastinate. And of course every year I wait until no more than one week prior to the 15th to actually use my tax-filling-out skills. And this year...was the worst.
Had I the chance to reverse time, I would go back to January 1st - gather everything I had and do my taxes then. Alas, I cannot and instead spent days under unhealthy amounts of stress and buried under unruly heaps of documents.
Luckily, it's over - and again, the year begins.
On list of things to do before I die, a few were checked off just on my one trip to Mexico last week (hopefully contracting a pandemic-worthy disease will NOT be one of those check marks, that's still TBA.)
